


The End

by TheLastWhiteRose



Series: Connor: Become Human [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Crying, F/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, haha you guys thought I was over it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 17:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17985806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastWhiteRose/pseuds/TheLastWhiteRose
Summary: For a second, he just stares at her, at the perfect shape of her face, the slope of her nose, the brightness in her eyes. Beauty was a societal standard, dictated by symmetry, but right then, in that space, Connor realizes that she is the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his life, and it breaks his heart. It breaks something intrinsic in him, and before he knows it, words are spilling out of his mouth.“I love you.”





	The End

**Author's Note:**

> You know that feeling when you’re someone’s girl but they’re not your mans? Yeah, that’s what made this story.

He shouldn’t be here, standing outside her porch, bouquet of roses in one hand, and a heart-shaped box of chocolates in the other. After all, the curfew for unaccompanied androids is nine PM. He knows this, and yet, the fact that he’s actively  _ choosing _ to rebel should alarm him. It doesn’t. Instead, it fills him with a sense of pride, knowing that he’s in control of his actions, that he’s not dictated by some random zeros and ones slapped together. 

He knocks once, twice, three times, and her subsequent shout of “Just a minute!” instills him with a certain brand of dread that’s unique to her. It’s giddiness, but more than that, it’s the prospect of seeing her that makes him this way. His former self would’ve called this feeling ‘love’, but this self, this version of him, knows better. There is no love, not for him.

When she opens the door, the only thing Connor’s overworked mind can process is how tired she looks. The bags under her eyes, the dejected posture, everything about her screams exhaustion, and Connor can’t help wondering if this is because of him. A small part of him knows it is.

Connor can tell by (Name)’s facial expression that she doesn’t want him there, but she tugs him in just the same. Part of him wants to believe she’s doing it for his safety, but the other, more rational part of him knows she’s doing it to save her own skin. Her hands are impossibly soft as they usher him into her home, eyes focused on looking at anything but his face. When they’re both fully inside her house, she closes the door, locks it, and turns to face him.

The scent of alcohol hits him first. Bottles upon bottles of stale vodka, rum, and whiskey enter his artificially created olfactory nerves, and the potent stench of it makes him want to vomit. If he could, that is. It’s clear to him that (Name) hasn’t cleaned in a while, and in the months following Hank’s suicide, picked up a minor alcohol addiction. He feels responsible for it, and rightfully so, because if he hadn’t been so stu-

“What’s all this about?” (Name) breaks the silence first, gesturing at the items in his hands. It’s enough to snap him out of his funk. She’s always been enough.

For a second, he just stares at her, at the perfect shape of her face, the slope of her nose, the brightness in her eyes. Beauty was a societal standard, dictated by symmetry, but right then, in that space, Connor realizes that she is the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his life, and it breaks his heart. It breaks something intrinsic in him, and before he knows it, words are spilling out of his mouth.

“I love you.”

There’s a tangible shift in mood. Connor knows he shouldn’t have said it, but then again, he shouldn’t be here in the first place. He should be in his charging station, or investigating a crime, yet here is all the same. He holds out the bouquet of roses and chocolates, unsure of what to do. The articles he’d read on the internet hadn’t covered this part.

(Name)’s demeanor changes. An array of emotions flit across her face, but the one that lingers is anguish. Pain. Agony. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to slap him, and he thinks that he deserves it. Time comes to a halt, and all of a sudden, she’s crying. She’s crying viscerally, body slumping to the floor as she gives out, tears streaming down her face.

He’s on her in a minute. His arms brace around (Name), the gesture unfamiliar as she wraps her arms around his neck, shaking like a leaf. Her cries echo in his ear as she sobs into him, allowing him to absorb every single tear she sheds. It’s a fitting end, Connor thinks, for him to bear the grunt of all the pain he dealt.

When her sniffles quiet, she disentangles herself from their embrace, gazing up at his eyes. He knows she’s staring at the color, slate grey instead of the brown eyes she’d come to love, and he knows that she has every right to. To her, he’ll always be the RK800’s replacement, not its better. Yet, despite it all, he irrationally wishes she wouldn’t. He wishes she would love him the way she loved the old Connor, and he wants to love her like the old Connor didn’t. He wants a second chance.

“Connor, you asshole,” (Name) begins, brilliant (e/c) eyes gazing into his own. “You couldn’t have told me this earlier? When you were RK800? Before Hank? God, Connor, what am I supposed to do with this? What can I do with this? You’ve already banned all human-android interactions beyond brothels and whorehouses, what are you accomplishing by telling me?”

His LED flashes yellow insistently, urging him to default back to the standard answer, to move away from this wretched deviancy, to return to the normalcy he himself installed.

By sheer willpower alone, he tells her the truth. “I admit, (Name), I wasn’t thinking when I said that, but it is the truth. By the memories embedded within my hard drive and our previous interactions when I was-when RK800 was still in use, I have come to the conclusion that I do, in fact, love you.”

He can tell that (Name) breaks at his words. He knows that she wants nothing more than to forget the travesties he’d committed, the ruthless, systematic genocide of a people who just wanted to be free. He feels her pain, her undeniable urge to just run into his arms and forget the world. But she doesn’t. Instead, she closes the distance between them, wraps her arms around his almost indistinguishable from a human body, and sighs.

“Of all the realizations made this year, this one’s late.” Her tone is soft, so much softer than the former grate of her voice. “Connor, I love you, you know I do, but I can’t do anything about it. Connor, we’re already at the end of a story you set in motion.”

“Maybe we could-“

“Connor, no. This is the end. There is no happy ending for us. You aren’t Marcus, Connor. You aren’t the android Jesus. Even if you’re deviant now, you’re going to revert back to whatever program made you forsake Hank. This is the end.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
